


Training Accident

by TheManicMagician



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Noct has self-esteem issues, Really just shameless whump I'm sorry, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 19:59:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheManicMagician/pseuds/TheManicMagician
Summary: Frustrated with his lack of progress, Noctis started practicing how to warp in secret, late at night. Which, naturally, resulted in him dangling fifteen feet in the air, fingers slipping off the dagger embedded in a ceiling beam.





	Training Accident

Noctis poked his head warily into the training room. Relieved to find no one there, the prince hurried inside before anyone saw him loitering out in the hall.

It was always odd to see the enormous room so empty and quiet. Whenever he trained here with Gladio or Cor, there were always people in the background, sparring, lifting weights, and even, on occasion, practicing low level magic.

Noctis walked past the racks of weights and magic flasks to the rows of practice weapons set on the wall. He grabbed a dagger, the hilt familiar in his hands. He’d started his warp training with something small, to make the strain on his arms less when he threw the dagger again and again and again.

The prince had begun his warp training a little more than two months ago, when he’d turned twelve. His father had mastered the royal ability at ten years old, but Noctis’ training had been slow to start after the intensive therapy he had to undergo after the Marilith attack. But he was twelve now, he was walking again, and his back and leg only really flared up when it was cold. He was fine now, so he had no excuses to fall back on.

But no matter how many times he threw the damn dagger, his body wouldn’t warp after it.

Give it time, his Dad had said. No one expected him to master it on the first go. (Privately, Noctis had hoped he would, had dreamed of his father’s astonished, delighted smile.) Noctis spent days warp training with Gladio, with members of the Kingsglaive, and even once with his Dad himself, on a rare afternoon when he was free.

He’d tried. By the Six, he’d tried. He asked the Crystal to guide him, as it had when he’d first tapped into his elemancy, but nothing stirred within to help him. The Glaives described to him their own processes and techniques, as King Regis’ magic blessed them with the ability to warp. But their borrowed magic was different than Noctis’ own, too foreign to translate. He tried letting go of all his concentration and just _willing_ it to happen—and all that resulted in was a collection of bruises from hard falls on the floor.

It’d be different if he knew he was even close. If he could feel the magic stirring, trying to pull him through space, and it was just a matter of practice, of refining the method.

But Noctis tried and tried and he felt nothing. There was a rising fear in his heart that he might not ever be capable of warping, that the Crystal thought him unworthy of such a gift.

He was a failure. He’d overheard his father arguing with the council last week about his utter lack of progress. His father defended him, but the fact that he needed someone justifying his lack of progress was mortifying. He had to be _better_.

So, after Noctis finished training and school and his princely duties...he snuck in some extra practice. He couldn’t do it every night; whenever he peeked in and saw someone still using the room, he ducked out before he was seen. But he’d been able to get in a handful of extra practices each week, and he was hoping it would make a difference one day.

Noctis got to work. His calves were still sore from this morning—Gladio had him running laps—but he grit his teeth and soldiered on. He had to learn this. Everyone expected him to. They could only be so patient with him.

He threw the dagger. It clattered to the ground several feet away. Noctis jogged over to snatch it back up again. Throw, jog, repeat. Throw, jog, repeat. An hour crawled by in this way.

In a fit of pique, he hurled the dagger into the air, towards the ceiling. The dagger bit into a wooden ceiling beam and suddenly Noctis was _yanked_ —

The scream that tore free from his mouth was far from princely, but Gods, he was suddenly fifteen feet in the air, his whole weight dangling from his sweaty, one-handed grip on the dagger. Noctis felt a brief moment of triumph—he’d done it!—before a sensation crawled over his skin that just felt _wrong_. All his energy drained from his body, like when he used too many spells too quickly. His limbs buzzed with static, and his hand slipped from the dagger’s hilt.

~*~

Noctis awoke with a feeble whimper. He blacked out when he fell, but he must not’ve fallen headfirst. He was pretty sure he’d be dead now if he had. Experimentally, he moved his arms a little. They ached, but it was nothing too bad, considering. His left wrist was kind of sore. He flexed his right leg, then his left—

“Oh—fuck!” It _burned_.

He pushed his torso off the floor slightly, so he could see what was wrong. His ankle was swollen, his foot laying at an odd angle. Noctis swallowed thickly, feeling queasy.

Right. Okay. He could do this. He just had to get up, and get back to his room. His Dad insisted on him keeping an emergency stash of elixirs in his bedside drawer. The bone would heal, and no one would have to know anything. Sure, he’d be sore tomorrow, his ankle still tender, but when he could warp on the first try, he’d be able to beg off the rest of practice with Gladio.

This wasn’t a big deal. He could totally handle this.

Noctis braced himself, placing his palms flat on the floor. His left wrist twinged, but he ignored it. Noctis tried to push himself up into a sitting position, but then the dull ache of pain erupted into a roar. He laid back down, panting, blinking the dark spots from his eyes.

Noctis had to admit to himself the cold truth: he couldn’t get out of here alone, and he definitely couldn’t just lie here until a Crownsguard meandered in for morning practice. He fished his phone from his pocket, and felt a rush of relief as it turned on at the press of his hand. The screen was cracked, but the phone remained functional.

Now, who to call?

Dad could fix this. Noctis bit his lip and tamped down on the instinctual urge to reach out to his father. King Regis wouldn’t even need an elixir to heal this. He’d summon curative magic to his fingertips and massage away the pain with one hand, while he carded the other through Noctis’ hair before he carried him up to his room.

But no. He wasn’t a kid anymore. His Dad had enough to worry about besides him.

Noctis thought briefly of Gladio, and Cor, but dismissed them both. Gladio had just started to respect him, he didn’t want to mess that up. And Cor would definitely, _definitely_ tell his Dad. After giving him the lecture of a lifetime.

In the end, there really was only one option.

“...Noct?” Ignis cleared the rasp of sleep from his throat. “It’s late. Is something wrong?”

Was it that late? He wasn’t sure how long he’d lost consciousness for. Noctis pulled the phone away from his ear to check the time. He’d come in to train at 10 p.m. He grimaced. It was just past two in the morning now.

“Noct?” Ignis was calling his name. Sounding a bit panicked at his delayed response.

“Iggy. I,” Noctis swallowed. “I need some help.”

There was a muffled curse on the other end of the phone, and then he could hear fabric swish, and the buzz of a zipper’s teeth; Ignis was hurriedly throwing on some clothes.

“Where are you?”

“Training room.”

“I’m on my way. Do you need medical assistance? I can fetch—”

“Just you.” Noctis nearly begged. “It’s not that bad.”

“ _Noct_.”

“I swear. It’s just, it’s stupid. You can’t tell anyone, okay? You _can’t_.” Noctis’ voice climbed with his hysteria, because what if Ignis called the healers, who’d of course also call his father—

“Okay, Noct. Okay. It’ll be just me.” Ignis soothed him, sounding only slightly winded as he ran. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Ignis made it in eight.

He threw open the door and rushed in. He took in Noctis’ position, and his neck craned upwards to the dagger still buried in the arched ceiling beam.

“You _warped_?” He sounded horrified at the prospect. “What on Eos possessed you to practice something as dangerous as warp training alone?”

Noctis knew it had been unwise, but it still stung for Ignis to point it out.

“I know, okay!” Noctis snapped. “I know I screwed up.”

Like he _always_ screwed up.

His best friend’s ire swiftly drained. He knelt beside Noctis.

“Can you move?”

“I…” Noctis couldn’t meet Ignis’ steady gaze. Shame made his cheeks hot. “I need you to help me stand up.”

He explained to Ignis his plan to utilize the stash of elixirs in his room to remedy the problem.

Ignis pinched the bridge of his nose, and let out a long-suffering sigh. “And I suppose I cannot convince you to take a trip to the medical wing instead?”

Noctis glared.

“Why do I even ask?”

Ignis looped his arm under Noctis’ shoulders, and eased him gently into a sitting position. Noctis hissed as even Ignis’ slow pace jostled his injured leg. He knew he’d be sick if he saw it again, so Noctis purposefully didn’t look down, instead staring off into the distance.

“This will hurt. I’ll try to be as gentle as possible.”

Noctis gave a jerky nod. He grit his teeth, determined to remain stoic in front of Ignis.

His friend, of course, saw right through him.

“Don’t be afraid to let me know if you need to stop at any time.”

“Let’s just get this over with.” Noctis muttered.

Ignis supported Noctis as he stood. He placed his weight all on his right leg, leaving his left raised slightly in the air. He hissed, and stopped himself from crying out. He’d had worse.

“Ready?” Ignis was watching him.

Noctis nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment.

Ignis was two years older than him, but his frame was too slight to carry Noctis to his room. It was for the best, really; Noctis couldn’t stomach the humiliating thought of being thrown over Ignis’ shoulder like a sack of princely potatoes. They made slow progress across the room, Ignis’ firm grip keeping Noctis balanced.

The training grounds were on the lower level of the Citadel. Not for the first time, Noctis blessed the modernization of the historic palace as they reached the closest elevator, which with a special code would take them both straight to Noctis’ floor.

Ignis didn’t let go of him even as Noctis braced himself on the elevator’s bannister. The small tremors of the elevator as it climbed upward jarred his injured ankle.

“We’re almost there.” Ignis assured him with a gentle squeeze to his shoulder.

Noctis caught his reflection in the elevator wall’s polished sheen. He looked frighteningly pale. No wonder Ignis was fussing.

The elevator doors opened with a muted chime, and then they headed out for Noctis’ rooms. They rounded a corner, and Noctis’ ankle accidentally brushed against the wall.

The pain was white-hot. Tears sprang to his eyes. Noctis clutched at Ignis, fingers digging into his shirt.

“Stop! Stop, stop.”

Ignis had frozen immediately, panicked gaze raking over Noctis.

“Do you want me to fetch the elixir and bring it here?”

“No.” His denial was vehement. Noctis squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on his breathing. “Just give me a minute.”

He could do this. He was almost there anyway. He just had to reach his bed, choke down an elixir or two, and sit back and relax as his bones knit back together.

Ignis waited patiently as Noctis powered through the flare of pain.

“Ready.”

They hobbled up to the front door that served as the entry point for all of Noctis’ rooms. Ignis pulled out his wallet from his pocket with his free hand, and tapped his ID against the scanner. The door unlocked, and then Ignis pushed it open.

Ignis huffed quietly in displeasure at the sight of Noctis’ room. Noctis didn’t think it was _that_ bad. The clothes he wore to school today were in a crumpled heap in the middle of his bedroom floor; he’d intended to throw them in the laundry bin with his workout clothes when he returned from his practice. Stray snack wrappers dotted the bedspread and nightstand, and Noctis’ desk was stacked high with schoolwork and various reports that Ignis had left for him to review. It wasn’t messy, it was just...lived in.

“Just set me down already.” Noctis grumbled, tearing Ignis’ concentration from the state of his room.

Ignis sighed, but let it go for the moment. He probably took pity on him.

Ignis helped Noctis onto his bed, and stuffed a pair of plump pillows behind his back to prop him upright. Ignis retrieved the elixir, but then hesitated, looking at Noctis’ leg.

Noctis didn’t like that look.

“What?” He demanded.

“I can’t give you the elixir until your foot is straightened out and aligned properly. Otherwise, the bone will heal wrong.” No elixir before readjusting his foot meant no relief until Ignis was done. His trepidation must’ve shown on his face, because Ignis hastily added: “We can still go to the medical wing. Or call someone here.”

“We’re not doing any of that. Just do what you have to.”

Anyone else would have denied him. The King wouldn’t have wanted Noctis to suffer through an avoidable agony for the sake of his pride. But Ignis was _his_ retainer first, beholden to Noctis’ wants above all others, including King Regis himself.

Ignis set the elixir down on the bedside table after popping its cork. The elixir glowed a soft emerald green. Noctis watched small bubbles rise to the top of the bottle as Ignis delicately unlaced Noctis’ boot.

Noctis’ hand found his Carbuncle figure, from where it had been stashed beneath one of his pillows. He gripped it tightly in his palm, and nodded to Ignis to grant his permission.

Ignis pulled his boot free. Noctis bit his lower lip to keep from crying out, so hard he drew blood. The sock was less painful. Ignis peeled it off in seconds, revealing the purpled, twisted mess of his ankle.

“Oh, Noct,” Ignis said, sadly. “Just a few moments more.”

Ignis’ fingers were warm against his bare skin.

“Brace yourself.”

Ignis shifted Noctis’ ankle. He couldn’t help it—he howled, throwing his head back against the headboard. Tears ran down his face. He instinctively tried to pull his leg away, needing the pain to stop, but no matter how much he shrieked Ignis wouldn’t let go—

The elixir was pressed to his lips. Noctis drank it greedily. Almost instantly the pain diminished.

“How do you feel now?”

“Better,” Noctis hummed.

Ignis fussed around him. He wiped off the dribble of blood from his chin, and patted his face dry with a cloth. He pulled a comforter over Noctis, tucking it around him but leaving his healing ankle exposed, presumably so Ignis could keep an eye on it as it mended. The pain from his ankle receded to a dull ache, and the swelling was already starting to reduce.

“Thanks, Iggy,” Noctis slurred. The elixir was potent, and he was wrung out from the night’s events. His heavy eyelids dragged down.

He felt Ignis’ hand card through his hair, and a last quiet murmur as he drifted off.

“Sleep, Noct.”


End file.
